Triplicities
by Rusco
Summary: Fire, water, earth, air. Spike and Xander in their element. Four ficlets of 200 words (slash)
1. Fire

((Some ficlets for a slashthedrabble challenge. Air, earth, fire, water. 200 words apiece, whimsical Spander. Reviews are much loved, good or bad.)) 

Fire

Xander hates Spike. He hates the smirk on his face, the mocking knowledge in his eyes, the way he crawls under Xander's skin and sinks useless fangs into his oldest wounds. He hates the twisted humanity of him, and the doubts it stirs up. But most of all, he hates his unnatural warmth. Vampires should be cold and dead. Their skin shouldn't burn to Xander's touch, sending strange shocks of heat through his body. He knows that it has to be wrong, somehow.

Spike hates Xander. He hates his clumsy humor, his eye-searing shirts, his stupidity in the face of danger. He hates the power the boy holds over him- a symbol of his debasement, this overgrown child keeping him tethered like a pet. But what he hates the most is the terrible heat of him, the warmth of the sun radiating from under his skin. He feels colder now than he's ever been before, and the boy's fire torments him with its nearness. He wants, but he can't have. He hates the craving within himself that makes him touch Xander more often than is necessary.

But for two men so starved for warmth, the infamous line is fine indeed.


	2. Water

**Water**

He kisses Spike, as the sky flows down around them.

The rain seems to saturate everything, colors and shapes and reasons running together like ink on damp paper. Xander's mind blurs around the edges, dissolving in the warm trickle of raindrops down the back of his shirt, the gentle pressure of cool fingers against the nape of his neck, the unexpected softness of lips against his own.

His eyelashes separate slowly, made heavy by fat droplets of water that roll haltingly down the creases of his eyelids. Stunned blue eyes meet his own, closer than they've ever been before- and as awareness creeps back he realizes that their lips are no longer touching, that the space between them has grown. One of them is pulling back, though for a moment he's not sure who, and then it doesn't seem to matter because it's over.

They spring apart as reality reasserts itself, panting with shock. Spike's eyes are still wide and unguarded as his hand automatically flies to his mouth, searching for residual heat. Xander breathes heavily, gulping air that is suddenly too thick with water and uncertainty.

Someone wavers.

Then they're moving together again in perfect synergy, and everything changes.

((A/N: Written on the fly, whilst avoiding an important term paper. Concrit and feedback give me feelings of self-worth, while also helping me improve my writing.))


	3. Earth

Earth

They stood side by side on the front mat, but the rain sluicing off them was nonetheless forming an enormous dirty puddle on the unfortunately light-colored carpeting. Giles pinched his nose and made his usual pleas to any listening gods to spare his home any more damage than was absolutely necessary. Willow and Tara were giggling on the couch, and Xander shot them a grin- or it may have been Xander; the mud was so thick, it was difficult to tell who had originally been the brunette. Eventually towels were brought, people were hosed down, dry clothes of materials other than tweed were donated to the 'fragile human', and stories were exchanged over hot tea and cocoa. Spike was laughing like a deranged madman, and Xander was smiling that huge goofy smile that was getting to be rarer than Willow would have liked- so she nodded as Xander happily recounted the 'mud fight', as editorialized by Spike, and didn't say anything about the missing buttons on Xander's discarded shirt, or the hands clasped just out of sight under Spike's still-damp duster.

She'd have to remember to stop by the cemetery later, though- she hoped the shovel talk worked on vampires.

((A/N: You know, I'm posting these in the order they happened- but I actually wrote the fourth one first, third one second, and the first one third. Funny ole thing, life. Reviews and crits are loved, and thanks to people who've left comments so far.))


	4. Air

Air

Sometimes, it still wakes him- that unexpected breeze, the gentle, natural flow of air on the back of his neck. He's felt the wind outside, smelled salt and fury on it as it swept over him from the sea by moonlight- by starlight and candles, faerie lights for his dark princess, timeless and gothic and surreal. And he's stood strong against the wind-driven rain, squinting through the stinging gales for one last look at the morning sky, even in its veiled state.

Spike knows the winds, but this- is a memory from a time of sun and warmth that is, every minute, just a little further away.

Xander breathes out again, damp on the tiny hairs that trail down his spine. Spike smiles. The boy's breath smells like pizza, and onions- or onion rings, at least, so deep-fried that Spike doubted they'd contained any onion at all. He's certain he'll have to shower later, smelling like fast food and drool, but he can't really bring himself to draw away.

The still-unfamiliar hiss of breath becomes less so with its thousandth repetition, until he's slowly drawn back under. He shifts a little closer before he slips away, and dreams of day.


End file.
